Phoenix Tears, Ashes, Blood
by LadySilvrene
Summary: The love between father and son is immeasurable- but to question that love takes deep deception, especially when you have used Phoenix Tears, Ashes, and Blood to save them. The two main pairings are slash, an answer to the Severitus Challenge.
1. Pendant of Life

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. Since I can not write, I know that JK can do a better job in creating said universe. However, I get to play with it, and I know that there are a few of you out there who could have done better with JK's creation.

WARNING!!! There will be slash themes. Do not read if you do not like. No flames. Flames mean an immunity to Skiving Snackboxes and coal in your stockings!

Prologue: Hidden Truths

Two people blurred against each other, their magic and bodies blending. Together they were whole, one. As they engaged in one of the few things that allowed them to communicate their true feelings across to each other, sex, a golden glow seemed to permeate the room, though neither noticed. As each came to completion, the smaller of the two, hair in disarray, looked up to the other.

"Severus, my obsidian blade…"

And then they collapsed together on their bed in the Room of Requirement. It was late September.

3 3 3 3

The year rolled along, their seventh, and they kept up their outward pretenses of hate, but inside, they awaited the weekend, when they could be alone with each other. Where they could be free.

Where they could be themselves.

Their friends noticed their absences, of course, but mistook them for other things. The rest of the Gryffindor's group of friends had already begun to pair off, so it was understood between them that nobody would ask anything of anyone until that person offered the information.

Good friends that know you are hard to come by.

And Voldemort's shadow loomed its ugly head over the land.

3 3 3 3

"Severus, take the Dark Mark! Please!"

"Why must I?"

"You will be trusted! Lucius is his right hand man, Sev, and he has already said that he'll vouch for you!"

"Spying on me again?"

A blush. "Well, yes…"

An exasperated and faked sigh. "Whatever am I going to do with you…"

A light giggle. "I think I could thing of _something_…"

"Is that all you ever think about?"

"Well, yes…"

Silence.

Explosive screams, then silence.

"You _are_ taking the Mark, aren't you, though?"

Rolling eyes, light grin. "If you insist, my Phoenix."

3 3 3 3

So Severus took the Mark in December (an almost traditional Initiation period because so many people went home for the holidays). And then something was noticed- Lily and James rushed to the headmaster's office in mid January, who decided that the two of them could leave school on 'Maternity Leave'.

Many rumors exploded after that. Severus gloomed about the castle more, sulked, glowered. He was separated from his mate, who was with another person… Someone which they had felt feelings for in the past.

He wanted his mate back, he wanted to see their child be born. He wanted to hold them, to have his own hand held, and squeezed, and to have profanity and insults ringing in his ears. He wanted to feel the child's own innate magic and power wash over him, warm him. He wanted the love of a family, something which he had only received from his mate in the past year.

The child, supposedly conceived in late September, was to be born in late May, early June. When that time period crept upon them, he was given leave by the Headmaster, his true leader, to be with them, but only for a week.

The child was not born then, nor the week after. It was two months late, and the Obsidian Blade was unable to be there for his beautiful child, his and his mate's.

And then he heard of the prophecy, the prophecy that affected both him, and his mate, and…

Oh no!

Their child was in danger!

So he laid in the shadows, made little contact with them save through Dumbledore, and continued to spy on Tom Riddle.

3 3 3 3

July 31, 1981. Their child was already a year old, learning to speak, learning to walk. The Griffindors held a party, and Severus, unable to resist, came later, near midnight, to see his child. Sleeping. Beautiful. Innocent.

He laid a single present in there, just one, but that was the most important thing in the world for his child. A pendant, to capture and reflect curses, was tied around his child's neck. In the shape of a heart, containing a potion comprised of Phoenix Tears, Ashes, and Blood, and then strained through a cloth soaked in given Griffin's Blood with Cupid's Feathers, it could only be given to someone loved dearly by the Potion maker.

And the dear child was.

Occasionally, yes, there were curse scars from when the potion's magical energy was overwhelmed, but that did not often happen.

And so, Severus ensured the life and safety of his child.

3 3 3 3

October 31, 1981

Severus rushed into Hogwarts, his face the palest of shades, his eyes the widest they had ever been seen. A mere boy of eighteen, he ran as if his life- or the life of another- depended on it. Somehow, Tom had found his beloved child and his beloved mate. The attack was in two hours, and "I'll be _damned_ if I can't help them, if I can't help the ones I love!" he screamed as he raced for what he hoped to be his salvation. He approached the gargoyle, and had almost spoken his special password, when the Aurors leaped out and grabbed him.

All went black.

Including his very heart.

3 3 3 3

"Albus, you _can't_! You just can't! He's my son, Albus, my flesh and blood. I- Albus, he's my son!"

"I somehow find that hard to believe."

"What do you mean?"

"James' blood runs through that boy. Not yours."

"My blood does too run through his veins! Albus, I'm not lying! I saved my child's life! I gave him the Pyro-Amour pendant. You do know which one I am speaking of?"

"No traces of such a pendant were found. Lily's love reflected the curse."

"What?"

"There were no traces found in his bloodstream."

"But-"

"Severus, that is not your child. Now, will you please cease this and join the Hogwarts staff as Potions Master?"

"But wouldn't I be best suited for-"

"Potions, Severus."

A sigh. "Very well."

The scraping of chair legs on stone, then of a metal grill being swung into place and locked. Footsteps fade.

Tears fall on the ground, silver crystals. "James… Harry… I only wish I could have been there with you."


	2. Reveal the Deceptions

Disclaimer: I repeat- I don't own HP!

Warning: Slash themes, mentions of Mpreg (I wanted to keep you hanging, I didn't want to be too revealing. You notice how I only mentioned Sev's mate's name at the end, right? grin) and mentions of neglect and overwork.

Harry awoke, his skin protesting in pain from his sunburn with every shift in the bedclothes. His eyes were crusty, and bruised from both lack of sleep and from the regular beating from Dudley and his gang. Without that protection from Sirius, he was vulnerable.

As he stood, he swayed. He hadn't eaten at all yesterday. Too late, too late, too late. Those were the words ringing in his ears.

As he passed by the hall mirror, he looked at those eyes, the eyes that everyone noticed, the eyes that everyone saw before the scar on his forehead. 'His mother's eyes' they'd said, again and again. Who would have realized besides himself that their color was not unlike that of the Avada Kedavra, of the Killing curse. Of Death.

With those morbid thoughts still settled heavily on his mind, he entered the kitchen. His Aunt Petunia was intent on the stove, adjusting every knob to the right temperature. "Eggs, bacon, pancakes, and oatmeal today." She never said anything besides that, every morning as he crept downstairs to make the breakfast.

His imaginary friend woke up, as late as usual, and mentioned his father beating him last night for 'Disobedience'. Again. He had heard this voice since he was a young child, dubbed "Dragon", but had only recently heard it again, only recently needed it. He smiled wryly in his mind, and gave his 'friend' his own update- as usual, he had been ignored and uncared for.

The thumping of Dudley's footsteps on the stairs signaled Harry to snap out of his trance and into real life. The bacon was done, as were the eggs; he had already finished making the oatmeal, and the pancakes were almost done. Carefully, he heaped two plates full of food, and then gave daintier portions to Petunia. He had nothing for himself yet, not unless they gave it to him.

They ignored him throughout the meal, and gave him a single slice of bread and 8-ounce glass of milk for his first (and possibly only) meal of the day.

And then came the chores. Trim the bushes, and the roses, mow the lawn, pull the weeds, plant the tulips. Wash the windows, inside and out, upstairs and down. Mop the floors, vacuum the carpet, dust the computer, clean the guest bedroom for Marge, and the list went on and on.

The sun was gone from the sky as he finished his chores. Dragon gave sympathy- the 'training' had happened again, and it was always painful. His own nickname, Phoenix, echoed in his heart, and he smiled at how fitting it was at first glance- and at all thereafter.

3 3 3 3

"Severus, I have some… News."

Raised eyebrow, set chin, emotionless eyes. "Yes?"

Dark blue twinkles, twinkles of deviousness. "It has come to my attention that Harry Potter does not receive the proper care while at the Dursleys'."

A hitch in breath, but quickly smoothed over. Schooled expression, but would be joyful if allowed. "And this affects me how, exactly?"

Mask of senility. "It appears that Harry Potter is, indeed, your son in blood."

Triumph. "I knew it! You knew all along, didn't you Albus! You just didn't bloody care!"

Fear. "Ah, well, that is-"

"You kept it from me, and from my son! You prevented him from receiving the proper loving care just so that YOU would have a pawn!"

Shifting, nervousness. "Well, there was never any mention of your and Lily's relationship in the proper time periods…"

Stop- turn, face incompetent fool, glare. "I cannot believe that the Headmaster of Hogwarts could be so stupid and incompetent!"

Puzzlement. "What? What on earth do you mean?"

Cold stare. "I never even _knew_ Lily, let alone engaged in sexual activity."

Still puzzled. "But James was a man, he couldn't have been pregnant! Unless…"

Smirk. "Yes- unless I was his one and only soul mate."

"But Harry's eyes…"

Jerk back as if slapped. "Yes, Lily's eyes. I… Until now I thought that yes, James did indeed cheat on me with her at the time of Harry's conception, but if he has my genes…"

"Then either it is a recessive gene, or Dark Curses may have more effects than previously know and documented."

"Especially when reacting with protections!"

"But there were no traces…"

"Who did you ask to trace his blood?"

"Malfoy…"

"MALFOY???? You had ME at your disposal, and you used that Death Eater???"

"I realize that it wasn't the best of choices made, Severus, but…"

"When do I fetch my son?"

"What- oh, as soon as you deem necessary. And don't damage the Muggles too horribly."

"Very well. I will wait until his birthday."

"What a present…"

3 3 3 3

If any of Harry's friends had come by to see him, they would not have recognized him. His hair, normally a midnight-red, was now the deepest of inky blue-blacks. His irises were ringed with a thick band of black, and his skin was blistered from the sun- he had never been this sensitive before. His glasses were too smashed to rest on his nose, so he did his chores blindly.

His ribs jutted out from his stomach, and his arms, though bathed in wiry muscle, were skinny and weak-looking. His cheekbones were sharp, and his fingers long.

He had changed.

Not that anyone had noticed. They had seen the gradual changes, and didn't care about the lack of meat on his bones. They didn't notice that his hair was so laden with dirt from outside that it had begin to flatten itself, or that his eyes were deep-sunk into his sockets.

And they didn't notice the scars on his arms, the scars he made every night, the scars he made in memory of Sirius.

But Severus Snape, who hadn't shown notice or care on his face for years, had. He noticed every change- 'the loss of Lily and the incorporation of himself', he mused. 'Charm-work, very likely an illusion/blood-binding spell with a time-lock so that it wouldn't show for years upon years.'

Like it was showing now.

He was early, a day before his son's sixteenth birthday, because he had known that it would be necessary to see his child, to prepare himself.

He just hadn't realized how bad it would be.

The Potions Master forced himself to stay. 'Not until midnight', he commanded himself. 'Not until he gets his birthday presents from his friends.'

And with that, he waited.

As he stood, hidden in plain sight, he constructed plans to destroy the lives of the family his son had been forced to deal with. He noticed the boy that was big enough to be broken apart into seven different beings, and would still be far bigger than the average boy his age. He saw the rotund businessman, who blamed everything on everyone but himself. He saw the horse-woman who saw her nephew as slave labor.

And then came the worst of all.

Marge Dursley, a large woman who bred dogs. Yes, the world was good.

So much revenge to dish out.

3 3 3 3

Dizzily, Harry scraped an arm against the sweat pouring off of his face and neck. A blistering day, and he had yet to relax. The world swam lightly around him- heatstroke, he remembered. The fatigue from too little sleep because of Voldemort's nightly activities didn't help any, either.

His long and bony fingers pressed against his temples to ward of the headache he knew was coming. Eyes blurring even further, he decided to risk his uncle's wrath now rather than the wrath he would receive if he had to be shuttled off to a hospital. He sat in the shade of the house. 'I'll close my eyes for… Just a mo… Just a moment..." And then sleep took him in her arms and carried the boy's mind off to dreamland.

He awoke to the sound of a car in the driveway. "Uncle Vernon's back…" he murmured to himself. Shakily, he rose to his feet and began his chores again. He felt Dragon in the back of his mind, and acknowledged him as the 'boy' anxiously reassured himself as to the life in his only true friend. Days of pain threatened to spill over the carefully erected internal barrier, and send him careening into unconsciousness, but Harry beat it back with everything he could spare. 'Just a few hours more, and then I will be sixteen. I will have people check in, I will have a boost… Just a few more hours…' This became his mantra. As Aunt Marge exited the car, he flinched, but he continued to reassure himself. Dragon helped as well. His cool voice seemed to wash away the heat of summer, and his sarcastic remarks helped Harry to smile inside, while on the outside, his face was set and grim.

A hidden weight pressed against the hollow of his throat, and there Harry touched, overwhelmed by the love he felt emanating from this single piece of jewelry. The necklace had been bound around his neck for as long as he could remember, though nobody had ever seen or felt it before but him. As he ran his fingertips over it, he felt a tiny three-dimensional heart- almost like a potion bottle- attached to a string of twine. He gripped this gift, this symbol of love that had been with him forever, and knew that the love of whoever created this would be with him for a lifetime.

3 3 3 3

The rustle of leaves. "Hello Severus."

"Minerva."

"So he finally told you."

"What?"

Sad smile. "He knew from the very beginning. He is the one who hid Harry's true birth."

"But you knew?…"

"Yes… But, Severus, he is my uncle. I could never hurt him by betraying his trust in me."

"I understand."

"It's true, though. Something saved your child that night, Severus. Not your Pyro-Amour."

"But then where is it?"

Another smile, but more happy. "Phoenixes are extremely interesting creatures- not to mention secretive. They have their own magic. Harry is, in their minds, one of their own. They protect him."

"But… They are not the ones who saved him that night."

Secret on the wind. "Of course not."

A cat walks away.


	3. The Pain We All Suffer

Disclaimer: Third time's a charm, eh? I won't be writing this again, so… I do not own Harry Potter or the universe to which he belongs. This is merely my interpretation and particular wishes for the setting. It might not adhere to canon, but it is mine, and I enjoy it and writing it.

Warning: Mentions of neglect, abuse, overwork, Mpreg, self-mutilation, and many, many slash themes.

Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock kept ticking, second by second, as time drew closer and closer still to the birthday of a boy lying awake on his bed in a house on Privet Drive. His eyes were unfocused and full of pain, and his heart seemed to falter as his thoughts grew steadily darker. His hair, once most unruly, was now much tamer, and the eyes that were once a vivid Avada Kedavra green had rings of black around the iris.

Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock kept ticking, second by second, as time drew closer to the birthday of the son of the man whose heart was mending as he stood, looking at a house on Privet Drive. His eyes were dark, but sharp, and his hands continued to clench to ward off the pain of Summoning. His hair was clumpy and greasy, but straight and full when clean. His heart faltered as he thought of things that could have, no, should have been.

Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock kept ticking, second by second, as time grew closer to the birthday of an enemy and a pawn. Two sides of a war, and yet so similar and outcome for either of them taking control of the world. One hoped to break the boy, the other to turn or kill him, but they both agreed with the thought that the boy was but a thing, and thus not worth mention or time beyond initial efforts. Two leaders, two factions, both blind to the imminent but hidden third.

Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock kept ticking, second by second, as three angels gazed down upon the world, and their friends. Two clung to one another, but the third was alone as he gazed upon his child and his mate. The dark twisting and turning of fate had darkened his countenance and soul, but this twist in the snake of time had lightened it almost immeasurably. Finally, they could be a family again.

Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock kept ticking, second by second, as the one and only true friend of 'Phoenix' anxiously waited for his only friend's mind to be put at ease. Such desperate times had fallen upon him and his mother that he needed that friend to hold and to cherish, to be the one and only thing in times of despair to keep him sane. The boy called 'Dragon' craved the love the one can only find through family, but had only experienced it with two people, one of which he thought was imaginary, and the other of which he thought wasn't trustworthy. The pain in the hearts of Dragon and Phoenix echoed as one, together, and forever.

3 3 3 3

Footsteps echoed through the silent houses, their intent the same. Cracking their knuckles and readying their 'toy's, they approached the rooms of their current victims. When they spoke, their words rang as one, though the two of them had never met, and probably never would.

"Get up, boy."

The boys scrambled to their feet, one fair and dark inside, one dark and fair inside. _These_ two had met, in more ways than one, and thus it was no surprise that their movements were almost completely coordinated.

"I… I'm sorry…"

Harsh laughter. The gagging sound of a person being choked filled both rooms, though only one of the men was touching anyone at the moment. The other was playing with a piece of wood that had been handcrafted to a thing of beauty.

With a look of disgust, the two men stopped that method of torture, and the boys gasped and choked for the breath they were so sorely denied. They cried out mentally for the other, and held the fragile and distant bond between them for comfort.

A belt was next, then a boot. Then bare fists- the aristocratic man had his bloodlust so raised he didn't mind the plebian and beneath him methods of giving pain.

The tears mingled with the blood, and dripped to the floor. The boys, tired and weary, collapsed to the floor as they waited for dawn and morning to come.

3 3 3 3

A cloud of owls tried to approach the house, but the wards prevented all but five of them from entering. Of those five, two were owls from Hogwarts, two were regular Post Office Owls, and one was a tennis ball of feathers. None of them carried packages.

The boy, still embraced in shame, struggled with the latch, his weakened arms fighting against their pain. With a click, the window was opened, and the owls given entrance. Each dropped a letter.

He read them. Once, twice. Shock was ever-present on his features- this was not what he was expecting for his sixteenth birthday.

__

Dear Potter,

I am sorry to break it to you now, but I can't keep up this dreadful façade any longer. Your friendship wasn't worth anything except to raise my own standing- you have a relatively good pureblood standing, and you are the Boy-Who-Lived, but, frankly, I expected more. And, anyways, Dumbledore ordered me to be friends with you- an intelligent mind is always necessary in any group. He wanted you not to rely on yours.

I truly and sorry, Potter, about this and your Godfather.

Hermione Granger

****

Potter,

This was never a true friendship. Dumbledore told me to- wanted you to rely on me as the temper and brute strength. Sorry, but I can't wear a mask any longer.

And I never did have a crush on you. I was the 'routine love interest', or whatever he called it.

****

Sorry.

Ron and Ginny

Harry,

We're not as close, you and I, and I think that what we had was never a friendship, what with Dumbledore telling me to, and all. You ain't worth it. Sorry, Harry, but you haven't killed off old You-Know-Who, and I doubt you ever will.

Hagrid.

Harry,

I am sorry, but I can't be a godfather figure to you. I've lost Sirius, too, and… He was the only link to my past. I need time to myself. You have so many friends that I don't think that you shall mind. Besides, Dumbledore only thought me necessary as a balance to your rambunctious and Weasley Twin-like godfather.

Remus.

**__**

You may have received news that I have coerced your friends into being that way. I would never do such a thing- disregard it. There isn't any room or time or attention for you at Hogwarts, Grimmauld, the Burrow, or any of our other few safe places.

I am sorry.

Have as happy a birthday as you can.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin First Class

Why were they all cutting ties? From the sounds of it, Dumbledore had coerced them, but the man himself didn't want to deal with his wrath and was trying to appease him. Heh.

He felt a familiar tickle at the back of his mind, and opened up to his friend.

'Dragon!'

'Phoenix!'

'It's horrible, horrible…'

'What?'

'My friends… My teacher… My.. Whatever-he-is. They've said that they're not my friends. The letters were nearly all the same… And they all blame it on my mentor, who basically said he knew about the letters but that he hadn't done what they had suggested.'

'All of them?'

'My closest. I think…'

'Well?'

'I think that I've become a pawn, a mere piece in the games that deranged power-mad wi- I mean, people play.'

'Ouch. Wait- isn't it your birthday right now?'

'Yeah…'

'Oh.. Say, um… IT happened again tonight…'

'Oh no, I'm sorry! I should have been able to help!'

'Bloody Gryf- I mean, goody-goody.'

'It's painful, being beaten, it's happened often enough to me and oh my god I've said too much, I PROMISED myself I wouldn't burden you…'

'It happens to you, too?'

'…'

'Speak to me, dammit!'

'I… I don't deserve your help, gods blast it!'

'But you need it. And I am still your friend after all these years, aren't I?'

'Well.. Yeah.'

'Tell me about it.'

And together the boys began to heal.

3 3 3 3

It was time. The owls had arrived, what few of them had made it through the wards, and the boy… His son would probably be ecstatic already and unwilling to let anything bring him down. Or would let having a family bring him up to a new pedestal. Or…

He would not dwell.

The house was quiet. Snores erupted from upstairs, and it seemed like there were seven people snoring, though the house currently only held four… Five, including himself, but there wasn't a chance he'd be sleeping here.

As he made his way quietly up the steps, he heard another sound, something softer, more subtle. Crying. Not the bawls of a spoiled child as was to be expected from his son's 'cousin', but the cries of someone in pain. "Does Dursley beat his wife?" he inquired aloud, though he immediately regretted it. The cries stopped, only to be replaced with the almost unheard words "Oh god…"

He recognized that voice. James' voice, Harry's voice. Oh god. "Harry!" The intensity of that single word shook the house more than his frantic running steps up the staircase. The inhabitants awoke, but all they saw was a black blur running to Dudley's second bedroom. Foregoing the many locks on the edge of the door, he kicked it open and rushed to his son's aid. He slipped in something on the way to his son's side, and when he had regained his balance, he touched it gingerly. Sticky, not too wet, but wet enough. Red. Blood. He glanced at his son and saw tell-tale traces of a beating, traces nobody but someone who had undergone such would recognize.

Everything else was a blur to him, covered in red haze. He remembered Portkeying his son to the Infirmary at Hogwarts, but little else besides hurting Dursley with every ounce of his strength. Every ounce of pain and hate and.. Every dark emotion fled his soul as he fought the man who had hurt his child, had hurt the one thing left of his mate, had hurt the only thing in the world that was still important to him.

Aurors arrived, but his parent's need somehow protected him, as it had protected Harry by Lily. He didn't kill the man, but hurt him severely. As the last of his anger-induced rage left him, he collapsed. The amount of energy needed to maintain a wandless barrier and a Red Rage was far too high for many wizards or witches to ever achieve, but he had.

As he sank into the blissful quiet, he saw a glimpse in his mind's eye of the gratefulness in his own son's Avada Kedavra green eyes.

How he hated that pathetic excuse for a muggle.

3 3 3 3

HI! I won't keep you long- I just have some virtual rewards for my readers, and a minor Author's note. No, I will not pester people over reviews- either you do or you don't. Frankly, I'd prefer do, but it would be hypocritical of me if I demanded reviews- I try to keep my reading material over 40,000 words and only review the last chapter, so you can too, if you wish.

Lord Localfreak: I do confess, tis intriguing though at the end I had difficulty following the narrative. Although I enjoy my personal analysis I must ask what the relevance of a Windows 95 computer imported from the USA (1. why not just buy it here and 2. why 97? is it to show poverty, because I was always under the impression of a middle class suburban setting for the Dastardly Dursleys?)

Actually, in the appropriate time period, the Windows '95 computer is still rather new- only a year old. (Harry is turning 16, and was born in 1980) And yes, I agree with your interpretation. I am not sure if Windows and such had spread so much to England and Europe at that time, to I just decided to ignore all fact and say what I wanted to. I hope I haven't made and absolute fool of myself. Oh, here's a… hunts in bag for goodies Chocolate Frog! All yours!

Will it be a Hate!Dumbledore fic? Or is that as of yet, undecided?

And yes, it will be (as you should see from this chapter.

Hermione21: Is 'Dragon' really Draco?

SSSSSHHHHHHH!!! Don't let them know THAT! Oh, here's a Chocolate Frog.

I am sorry for writing really long Author notes (again, hypocritical of me to do so) but, well… I wanted to! So there!

Review Questions (worth 2 Chocolate Frogs or 3 boxes of BB's Every Flavor Beans)

1) Who is Severus' one and only soul mate?

2) Who have we decided to hate for his methods of absolute manipulation?

3) Which two authors have we decided to hate, one for killing a character and the other for mangling a beautiful universe in her fan fiction?

4) Which pairing is your favorite?

Ja ne, minna-san!


	4. Escape from Bad Faith

Warning: Slash themes, mentions and memories of abuse, manipulative coots that use everyone for their own gain, and the destruction of a perfectly good universe by a crappy author who can't do anything creative besides poetry without it sounding completely horrible. (At least, that's what I believe about myself. Make whatever judgments on me you wish.)

And only hermoine21 actually answered number 3. Sigh. I feel so much better that nobody considers me a horrible writer…

3 3 3 3

White, pure white, was all that he could sense. He was cold and achy and tired, but he couldn't sleep another moment. Something was happening.

The green eyes of an angel peered down upon him. Though not in blood, she had always felt that the boy beneath her was her own son. When the ability to have children had been ripped from her at an early age with pain beyond measure, she had never thought she could feel a mother's love for anyone, but… She had survived, and she had triumphed.

The only person she had ever truly loved as a mate was at her side, his blue eyes sad with the pain that the boy he was supposed to protect and help had had to go through. He held his one love to his side, and they seemed like one soul in two places, not two souls in one.

Dark brown eyes peered out from long lashes and long, messy hair- the hair his son had seemed to inherit. He could already see, however, the changes- this child would be more Severus than anything. He was glad- they needed to have each other- he just hoped… He hoped that his son could find his own soul mate, his own love, before it was two late and the two of them on opposite sides of the war died from the pain they caused the other.

White. As he opened his blurred eyes, white was all that he could see. His voice was hoarse, and his hair, plastered to his sweaty forehead, dipped dangerously into his vision. He needed a trim.

Massaging his temples, he searched to his right for the glasses that were always there when he was in the Infirmary. Missing. He searched the left, and panicked. Those glasses- the same as his fathers, the only thing that allowed him to see, the-

He moved his hand up to his nose to push up the glasses there. He still couldn't see- it was so frightening, being unable to see a thing. Not one gods blasted thing. He lowered the glasses, and that was no better.

'Prescription change' the dry sarcasm of his only friend filled his mind. 'Are you really that daft?! And how often are you in the Infirmary?'

'More than necessary, in my opinion.'

'Well, of course. My opinion, too. Drives me up a wall- I can rarely finish my History of M- Morocco homework.'

'And I am the one who can't do any homework.'

'Big whoop. You have a reason. I don't. My father finds out, and-'

'All right, all right, stop! I'm sorry, I don't mean to, I'm a terrible, horrible, no-good very bad friend. I might be better off in A- Australia.'

'Where'd you get that?'

'Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day. Or a title similar to that. Alexander's having a bad day and he keeps trying to get to Australia.'

'It even has the right rhythm. Intelligent for once, Phoenix, hm?'

'Please.'

3 3 3 3

Cold, damp, hard. He remembered this cell, this particular roughness in the stone floor, this indent from banging his shoes against the bars. It was the one he had been deposited in before, the one he had lived in after the night James died.

When the Aurors came that night, he stared at them with the eyes of someone who has lost more than they ever should have. Thrice he had lost his son- first as an embryo of magic, taken to be raised as another's child, then as a child when those known to be his parents died, and then here and now.

His third time to grieve.

As a parent, he had never been made to grieve. He was meant to be strong, to help his child in the only way possible. And, unfortunately, being incapacitated in Azkaban didn't help his child any.

The familiar swishing of robes echoed through the lifeless prison. Albus Dumbledore in all of his regalia stepped up to the very same cell Severus had lived in before- perfect. When a person is depressed, they are so much easier to break. He watched the memories pass behind his spy's eyes, and almost laughed at the desperation.

Imagine what it would do to his child. To lose his parents, finally get one, and then… Poof, gone again.

As he turned to the auror posted at the cell, he opened his mouth to order this traitor killed, but something made him pause, reflect. There was no better Potions Master in Europe, one better in Japan, and one his equal in the States across the water.

He would spare the life of the pathetic Slytherin.

"Please release him. He was under orders- the Muggle had been trying to kill our Savior. Harry Potter. He lost himself, somehow, and-"

"Professor Dumbledore, sir, he kept up a Red Rage, and then, when we tried to intercept him, he threw up a wandless barrier, sir. He- he was protecting his child. And we all know that Lily and James Potter were Harry Potter's parents. Excuse my saying so, but I think that the person you currently believe to be Harry Potter isn't a Potter, but a Snape. Sir."

The meddler's eyes went wide, and wider. He couldn't reveal the truth of the matter without causing an entire revolt upon himself. Collecting his thoughts, he finally realized what was necessary.

"Then I have done the world a great wrong. Release him."

And with that, he left.

Severus, as he heard the cell door opening, looked up. An auror was there, reaching out his empty hand. The potions teacher grasped the proffered hand and pulled himself up. With a rare "Thank you", he swept out of the prison, grabbed his wand, and Apparated back to Hogsmeade.

Now he could help his child and rid the world of the three great evils of their generation: the Ministry, Albus Dumbledore, and Voldemort.

3 3 3 3

The conversation that Severus Snape heard as he passed the Hospital Wing was far from normal. For one thing, there was only one voice. For another, that voice was describing how to make a cake.

A cake. In the Muggle fashion. To someone who didn't seem to understand a word.

"No, no, you mixed it in wrong. Start over. Again… Okay. Mix the dry ingredients first- yes, flour, sugar, and some of that too… In a separate bowl, mix the eggs, vanilla, and milk. Do you have an electric beater? No? Are your parents Amish or something, because they never seem to have anything electric. They're just eccentric? Okay, whatever…

"Whisk it. No, not the spatula, the whisk! The wire thing. Okay, get it to a thick consistency… Why on earth are you making a cake from scratch again? Your mother's birthday. I see.

"Put it into the oven, and keep and eye on it. No, don't put it directly into open flame, moron! That is the seventh cake you've ruined! That's it, tell me your address and give me a broom and- I mean, I'll bus over to help."

Severus, exceedingly amused by this 'conversation', had slipped quietly into the room. His son- god, it felt so good to just think the words- was the voice he had heard. He was so vehement, and almost furious- his arms were flailing around his head and his glasses has slipped down his nose.

"Ahem." That single word shocked his son so much that he jumped in his seat on the bed.

"Professor! Oh, Dragon, do be quiet- what did you need professor?"

"Potter, keep that incessant prattling to yourself. We do not need to know about your imaginary friends' need to create disasters of confection- and how you can be any good at cooking is beyond me with your abysmal grade in Potions."

Mentally, Severus slapped himself a new one. 'How could I say such things to my son, to James' son?! How could I continue to destroy the fragile bond we have?'

Harry's face crumpled- he had hoped that after the daring rescue from his relative's house, that things between them would be slightly more amiable, but it seemed that such was not to be.

Coldly, Harry spoke again- this time without the light camaraderie he had held from his conversation with his childhood and, seemingly, only true friend. "Well, I guess that you didn't have to save me, now, did you. You probably reveled in the fact that I, Harry bloody Potter, son of your worst enemy, destroyer of families, abused beyond belief, _Savior of the Wizarding World _was horridly abused by the relatives that were supposed to keep me safe and happy. I'm sure you're glad to know that you've done nothing to help, nothing to make me feel more at home! Now I have no place to feel safe- Remus, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, they've all forsaken me, and I only know that because their owls can enter the wards around my house! Imagine how many others Dumbledore convinced to be my friend in order to be able to break me down into a more willing pawn! You were probably part of the plan as well- insult me, berate me, make me feel little and small and worthless and he'll break sooner. Have one of the few people I can trust, however grudgingly, go into my mind and steal my memories, which few good and many bad I have, to harm me more than I've ever been harmed. This is emotional, sir. Of course, it's nice to see I have the family spitfire, now isn't it. Dumblefuck's plan didn't work after all. It just made me trust you less and understand myself better."

All throughout Harry's speech. Power had been building. The air was thick with it, and if a Muggle had stepped in, they would have felt as though a powerful thunderstorm were about to occur. Wind began to swirl around the room, and Harry had stood in front of the man who had helped to make his life a living hell from day one, ready to give of a torrent of magic. His eyes, ever the Avada Kedavra green, glowed like miniature suns, and his lips were curled in a very Snapelike sneer. Nostrils flared, hair loosely flying around his face, he was ever the picture of a young and powerful Godling. Severus was trembling inside with fear and rejoicing at the power and ability of his child, his boy. He had created this- and so had his dear and wonderful love, James.

"Sir, I am one of the most powerful and influential wizards in all of Britain. And, by the Gods, by Merlin himself, if you ever try to harm me emotionally again, I will ensure that the only way for you to get any peace is in the taking of your own life."

By now, the windows were shaking and many potion bottles had exploded. Some of the smaller items in the room hovered behind the gifted young wizard, soldiers ready to fight and defend their king, their leader, their lord.

"Contemplate that, and leave me be to talk with my best and only friend ALONE."

Everything, time, even, stood still. The world seemed to be holing its breath, for what happened here could very well decide its fate- from one darkness to another, or from darkness to emerge in the light.

3 3 3 3

The boy was powerful, that I knew, but I never imagined…

As I watched through the eyes of Julienne Green, I saw the boys living father seem to shrink in terror and stand tall with pride simultaneously. My eyes narrowed- he would not take the bait, would not make the child dark. I would not regain my glory by helping to defeat the next evil.

Ever since my defeat of Grindelwald, I had yearned for power, yearned for the great influence and respect that saving a world can bring. But, no, such was not to be.

Furiously, I left the portrait, and headed for my dear friend, Fawkes, but something odd happened. He looked at me as though I were some person who had lost his mind and left. He flew away.

My phoenix flew away.

Furiously, I gave out a terrible, animalistic scream of rage and desperation, and sank into the insanity which had threatened to claim me for years upon years.

3 3 3 3

A scream was heard, distant, but present, leaving the occupants of the Hospital Wing divided. Work this out now, and ignore that blood-curdling cry, or leave and help the person afflicted, and take care of this another day.

The stalemate held.

3 3 3 3

A boy with Athena's eyes looked up from his place in the kitchen. His father was home. Pity- he had hoped to give the cake to his mother, though she'd never accept it. Nobody ever appreciated him as more than a piece of meat, and heir, the one to continue the line and support Voldemort and Purebloods and Hatred-For-All-Things-Muggle.

Hah. Funny, really, that his friend seemed to be one to him, just like the silver-eyed boy seemed to be to Phoenix. Quietly, the true heir crept out of the kitchen into the room he had been living in since age five, when he picked bouquets of wildflowers at his birthday party for all of the guests.

That was the same year his father had made the simulacrum.

More identical and like his father than the Dragon himself ever could be, the cold, sneering boy was nothing like the true heir. For one thing, he was everything like the perfect example of one of the line. For another, he was straight.

Funny how things work out.

As the Dragon approached his room, he saw the Simulacrum, and, to his luck, it was moving sluggishly and zombie-like. With a cry of desperation and hope and yearning, the true boy barreled into the copy, taking the wand held tightly in his hands. Purring with delight, he canceled one of the most necessary and elementary charms on the copy- the one that kept the fabric together- and rushed with all of his strength to his father's private drawing room.

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder in his hands, he spoke the name of the only place his father would never be able to reach him- besides Hogwarts, of course. It was also the only place not controlled by his father and his father's associates that he knew the address to.

"The Burrow."

3 3 3 3

A soft gasp of shock and exultation broke through the stalemate, nulling the tense situation. His eyes brimming with tears of elation, the godling lost his aura of power and grasped the adult before him in a powerful hug- just to feel grounded, like he was still alive and on earth. His one and only friend was free, like he himself was- free of a gilded cage with rules and expectations that could not be followed. Free.

Like a bird, Harry let out a cry, and collapsed on the bed. No matter what the man before him had done, he was safe, and he was happy.

Forevermore.

3 3 3 3

YAY! I finally finished- that means that I actually get to post this and get reviews and feedback and OMG! This was so interesting to write, even though I had to work a few times to get it right. Please, please, please, I do not care about positive feedback, only the knowledge that you read it. Please, please, please review, and tell me about any complaints you have- I tried to make Snape as IC as I could, and I tried to show the true extent of Harry the Godling's power, and I was trying to tell you all why Dragon is going to be so OOC. It is a reasonable explanation. I'm trying not to make the boy too Hufflepuffy- he had to have SOME Slytherin in him to actually make it out alive, Ravenclaw too, not to mention the Gryffindor courage… Where should I base Dragon? H, G, S, or R? I will try to write him more in that category. Next chapter: Run-in with the Weasleys: all is revealed. How will they react? And, shock, what does Snape do with the first robe that has been soaked by his son's ears? (Something odd, I'll give you that.) And what is this about Dumbledore?(because you pretty much already know) Who will be the new Headmaster? Deputy? Who will be the new teachers?(you may vote for anyone but Dolores Umbridge, Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Gemini or Gemini (geminI or geminE) Dimagus) If you wish, you may vote, but the questions with an next to them are off-limits- MINE!


	5. As it All Comes Together

The father watched his son almost reverently. The power he had demonstrated, the ability, the sheer force of will… And then, that final call, like a bird as it crested the top of a thermal, feeling so right…

He had never though he would be able to experience fatherhood; truly, for when his own Phoenix had died, it had felt like the part of him that held the capacity for love had died as well. Through the years his son was at Hogwarts, though, he had found himself protecting and saving his son, over and over again, but had brushed it off as the blood debt.

The blood debt had already been repaid with the joining of souls. Soul mates cannot keep blood debts against one another because they were one soul in two bodies, one life in two receptacles.

Which was why it puzzled Severus so that he was not dead as well. He had only heard myths, of course, myths of how soul mates died within hours of each other, and yet…

And so, with one adoring look at his son, he put on his trademark scowl and stalked to the library, while inside he felt like dancing merrily in the sunshine with a wide smile on his face and neon yellow and hot pink polka-dotted jumpsuits.

Well. Perhaps it would not be quite that drastic.

?\?\?\?

Wards are powerful things, webs of charms woven together to create a safe haven within. Hexes and spells, and occasionally potions can be attached, but the intricate base of spells are the true source of power in wards.

In order to augment wards, it is necessary to take the wards down first, because a darned ward isn't half so good as the original.

At the Weasley's Burrow, the wards were spelled to certain magical signatures being allowed.

Which is why a certain 'Dragon' was flung from a trip in the Floo to a field in the country after a short jaunt into the fireplace.

?\?\?\?

"Mum, a bird tried to pass through our wards again!"

"I thought I'd fixed that."

"Maybe you did! Mum, it looks like the ferret is at the detour point! Why was he trying to get _here_, anyway?"

The family all rose to see the 'ferret' that their youngest son was speaking of. Almost every pair of eyes had narrowed by the time that they had registered the presence.

One Draco Lucifer Malfoy was trying to access the Burrow. A Malfoy.

Grins spread across the faces of the Weasley clan. Their revenge might finally happen- revenge for years of oppression and rivalry, revenge for the cheating of property, and the revenge for their only daughter's second year, where she had been possessed.

Revenge is a dish best served cold. Imagine the ecstasy had the weather been that of winter, rather than summer…

?\?\?\?

Athena's eyes opened, pure and silent, full of the knowledge of one thousand years, lacking the knowledge of a friend-filled lifetime. The aching maturity in those eyes was near enough to bring the hardiest warrior to his knees and bring the simplest of people to knowledge.

Truth was in those eyes.

The hair, color of the first rays of daybreak, splayed around the head in seeming splendor, a halo against the dark green of the field of grass.

A god was among mortals.

Truth was in that soul.

The breezes and mild changes in magical energy, as caused by Apparition, made the presence of several people known to the young godling. He was curious- were these the people that he had been attempting to reach? Glory help him if they were and were unwilling to listen to reason.

Redhead after redhead came up to him, and claustrophobia set in- the first moments of freedom, and now this? What would become of his plans to find Phoenix and settle down and become the greatest of companions?

Time stood still- innocent godling against hardened hellfire. An unvoiced conflict- age-old rivalries as the came into the fore were all that was necessary to fuel the conflict, and yet the ire seemed one-sided.

"I take it that you would be the Weasley clan? I am terribly sorry to inconvenience you, but I knew few names with the slightest bit of… How to phrase this… Good connotation attached, and yours was the only one I could trust. You see… I barely remember anything. I wake up in this huge house with black and green and stone everywhere, and this mean man with a cane and a sadistic streak, and a woman who looked like ice and didn't want a birthday cake. I just wanted to be safe- the man reeks evil."

The Dragon-Tamer, eldest son in residence, stepped forward with a sneer on his face and distrust in his eyes, wand at the ready. "How can we believe your tale? You're a Malfoy, a Slytherin, brought up to act before you could walk, able to trick the baby into giving you the candy, and then giving it back to steal it again out of spite. Worthless, Death Eater scum!"

The father, standing behind the son, shakily raised his wand to cast the spell as learned by all Ministry officials. "Accedo." Come.

Aurors collected around the place, tempers high.

"This boy, son of a known Death Eater, attempted Floo transportation from his locale of residence to our own. The wards displaced him to here. We call for his arrest and subsequent trial as soon as possible." The words rang as one between husband and wife, their magical request prepared for acknowledgement. Such was the Pureblood Law- if you are pureblood, certain rights may be invoked, such as incarceration of trespasser in precedence to the trials and imprisonment of others.

Kingsley Shacklebolt grinned ferally. Almost the entire Wizarding world had a grudge against the Malfoys- and here came the child, primed for the slaughter. He fingered his wand, and touched the young man's elbow, expecting a dark scowl and a fierce look.

The look that he saw surprised him entirely. It was a look he'd seen so often before, a look he'd hoped never to see again. It was the look of an abused child, the look of one almost too far gone to truly heal, the look of one that could never be reproduced by anything or anyone.

His grip around the elbow tightened as he made split-second decisions in his head and cleared his throat. "I think I'll take this one in, boys. He and his family have a lot to answer for, Death Eater filth." His face was twisted in the faintest parody of a sneer, but it worked, and they applauded him.

The pop of his Disapparition muffled his great cheer as he left for his own home, and not for Headquarters or the Ministry.

?\?\?\?

"Marguerite! Rita, I need to speak with you!"

"Honey, I'm in the shower."

"But Rita, I have Draco Lucius Malfoy here!"

"What? Are you yanking my chain again- you said that you had personally met Harry Potter and now you expect me to believe _this_!"

Sigh. "First-off, Rita, I DID personally meet Harry Potter, and second-off, this kid's another one! Neglect, abuse- physical and emotional, I'd warrant, not sexual, but he's better off than some."

Halt to the water. "If what you're saying is true, why isn't he terrified, and what was he doing to come under your jurisdiction? Doesn't seem right."

Blush. "I stole him from the ministry- unauthorized Floo to the Weasley home. I almost reacted too harshly- I'm still enraged that his father squirmed out of incarceration. I do hope that he's alright altogether, though."

Stirring, a new voice enters the conversation. "Safe now?"

Smiles of familial affection. "Of course."

?\?\?\?

Drool dripped into the long white beard, eyes unfocused. Garbled noises like those of a tiny child trickled through the still silence.

A hand clutched closely a broken stick of wood, the liquid imprisoned inside seeping through the fingers. The hilarity of the robes halted at the spreading stain of blood and ichors, the green attacking from outside, the red leaking from inside.

When one is deemed unworthy of a phoenix, when they've changed too much to be trustworthy, dreadful things happen. If one is that terrible and changed, the creature- for they are no longer worthy of being considered a person- does not deserve the delicate privilege of life.

As the sanity fled, the livid headmaster clutched at the tool that was meant to ensure that all his efforts were not in vain. Voldemort, Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagal, Remus Lupin, Hagrid, and various persons from the ministry had, implanted within them, a probe meant to destroy them physically from inside out.

Instead, it had turned upon him and left him in the same state.

Although many would mourn the headmaster, the phoenixes that knew the truth were perfectly willing to sing their song of things beginning to come together for their chosen saviour and saved one.

?\?\?\?

Severus berated himself. His child was lying in front of him, weak from magical exhaustion, and when he'd previously awakened he'd fallen into a pattern he'd sworn to break. Self-directed fury disguised the absence of the influential magicks meant to shape him into a thing of fury and biting wit.

Before him, Harry stirred. He'd seen things in his dreams, but where they started out horrible, like the memories of the third task and Sirius' falling through the veil, they cleared into a far more peaceful set of dreams, like that of a golden-haired child with Athena's eyes being brought to safe haven from vicious past. The vicious taint of magic slowly faded away into nothingness, and had the unique accursed eyes been open, they would have cleared into a beautiful emerald and tarnished silver.

Remus' curse too began to fade. When he'd read in the past the pain of Lycanthropy, he'd thought he was lucky, and the pain merely mild. Now, as he released all of the curse but for the presence of the wolf as a part of his mind, he realized that his had truly been brought about by some fancy wandwork. The only thing that would have left him in such a state as to be a permanent werewolf would have been to curse another. Instead, he was now free.

Hermione murmured to herself as she thought things through. Why had she sent that scathing, but true letter of separation to Harry? Yes, Dumbledore had originally been the one to orchestrate the friendship, but she felt, inexplicably, that he didn't deserve that. Which, in and of itself, was exceptionally odd. She generally didn't have such violent swings of opinion like that.

Neville stood abruptly. Every day that he remembered, he felt like there was an invisible hand set upon him to ensure clumsiness. Now, though, freedom was first and foremost on his mind, and the freedom of his magic crackling at his fingertips was amazing and uplifting. Dancing for joy, he laughed as the worry and pain he'd forever felt was washed away, as though by rain pouring down.

?\?\?\?

Eyes snap open, gaze around the sterile white room. Settle on a hunched figure at his side. "Professor, sir?"

Soft black, like velvet as opposed to his normal obsidian, peeked through the fallen hair. "James- no. Harry. Harry." Smile creeping through unused muscles to transform a face.

Fingers against an invisible pendant. "Everything feels better now."

Agreement. "Everything does."

Companionable silence.

?\?\?\?

"Mister Shacklebolt? Hello?" The tremulous voice echoed over the small apartment.

"Draco, you're awake!" A flinch in response to the name. That name had not been his for years- he'd been dubbed Boy for years, and Dragon for fewer, but not by much.

"Please, Mister Shacklebolt, not Draco. That's the name of…" A mild smirk, the only genetically-inflicted piece of his personality, stretched across his lips. "That's what they named my replacement when I turned out unworthy. Of course, they couldn't just get rid of me, what with Mother's incapacity for bearing more children and the fact that a simulacrum can't perform in bed worth dragon-dung.

"Oh, and if you figured out about my less-than-spectacular childhood, it has gone on since I turned five. He- he was the only one to get me through these many years of pain, and I him. If we knew each other in the physical aspect, we'd be inseparable, of that I have no doubt."

"He?" The only word he spoke was an eternity of questions.

"The person at the back of my mind. I think he's real- human- another person. I'm also not sure of his parentage- wizard or muggle- but because there have been so many more of them and because I really don't want to ease our inevitable meeting to the fore, I've counted him as such- a muggle. I call him Phoenix, and he calls me Dragon. We are magical creatures, stronger than other mortals, for we have yet to break.

"We will never break."

?\?\?\?

I'm ALIVE! Really, I am! I promise! I didn't die a horrible death! There have been no car crashes!

I've just been exceptionally lazy! teh blush How long has it been since I really updated this story? checks ACK! I'm almost worse than Midnight Blue! Except that a) she writes more quantity-wise, b) she went for more than a year and I less, and c) I don't give out these horrible half-chapter teasers and promise too much that I can't give- like Midnight saying that if she's overly incapacitated then she'll give us, her faithful reviewers, the planned outline for the story (if there really is one).

To my faithful reviewers: Um, well, I love you all! Yeah… And… showers chocolate frogs And I promise to give sumptuous gifts of chocolate-dipped H/D figurines. Which will, of course, be made of sugar, 'cause that stuff's awesome. Seriously.

Um… I am not going to incorporate any of book six. Why? Because… Well, let's see, Dumbie's dead, Draco was never going to be initiated, therefore Severus has no blood oath, and really, how would I incorporate Sevvie as the HBP?

Um… I think that I will do something unorthodox to Voldie when the time comes. You also have to vote for various things.

1. Will Harry remain Harry Potter, or will he, in his efforts to leave the spotlight, 'masquerade' as Severus Snape's son and go Slytherin?

2. Who will remain a steadfast friend of Harry's through all of this? (Only one (or two, if they're the twins) of the Weasleys is allowed, so vote for which of them you want. Everyone else is fair game.

3. Will Draco return to Hogwarts on September first, or will he stay with Kingsley and Marguerite for a while?

4. When should Draco and Harry become known to each other by both aliases- Harry/Draco and Phoenix/Dragon?

5. Who will be the new professors, and who will take over Dumbie's job? (I'm thinking of sending away Minnie at the moment.)

6. Should Harry and Neville become really close friends this time around? This is separate because they were never as close as they could have.

7. Which fastly-growing chain that is planning to take over the world should be Dumbledore's brainchild? Starbuck's, McDonald's, etcetera.


	6. Transitions and Plans

Chapter Six: Transitions and Plans

--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--

"You've failed me."

Eyes of ice, in emotion and color, swept across the begging form.

"You disgust me."

His hands clenched tight to the wooden rod, his knuckles white.

"And yet, you remain…useful, however slightly."

His hand whistled through the air, pulling the rod with him. The already blood-stained wood struck against the fake, magical flesh, and splinters struck off the sides to embed themselves in the pretense of skin.

"You shall spy for my master in Hogwarts. You have the possibility of reward and forgiveness with success; failure brings death."

Eyes of ice, in emotion and color, met the eyes of the speaker. A nod.

A twisted, evil smirk stretches over the first, cruel face.

"Now you have our deal to rely on- for the time being."

Robes swirling with thousands of years' good breeding and extensive practice, he leaves the tiny, frigid cell.

The smaller figure twitches, the map of his self damaged. Already his form disintegrates, already a hand has disappeared, now wrapped in bandages. Potions and spells, all have no affect on the mindless being.

And yet he still _is_.

--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--

Shaky legs stand on marble-white floors, the owner dizzy from the sudden movement. A pair of arms, swathed in the darkest of black cloth, but whitest of the skin, reach out to steady the younger man, who tenses suddenly before relaxing into the older man's arms. An embrace, not of romantic love, but of a friend to a friend, or a father to a son. Acceptance- for what relation could he have but that of a father? This man, who held him as a father, regarded him as a father to a son, treated him as family.

What had he missed?

The mind behind the Avada Kedavra-green eyes whirred like a computer, rushing through what he knew about the forbidding man before him.

The Pensieve….

Had there been an ounce of regret behind those hazel eyes, a sliver of that which begs forgiveness?

Shaky legs, supporting a body supported by a father, step lightly across the pristine white hall. Already, the elder man had brought out a nondescript item from within the endless folds and pockets of his robes, ready to transport the two of them away at a moment's notice.

--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--

Mirrored red storms into the tiny, misbalanced house, turquoise eyes blazing with a fury uncommon. The sweaters they wear are inside out, their shits not tucked in, their robes only half-on. Brandished wands seem to almost flare with the dual lights of their magic, one left, one right.

"What have you done to Harry?"

The same, disgusted tone explodes from the usually mild-mannered young men, and though they alternated their words, the voices were so much the same that it wouldn't have made a difference if they were singing two different songs at the top of their lungs, for they sound as one.

"What have you done to Harry, of all people? Quiet, unassuming, hurt, confused Harry? The same Harry that saved your daughter, and your son, and not only once, but countless times! The same Harry that treated you as family! The same Harry that thinks with his heart and loves with every breath!

"You foul, despicable excuses for magical beings. I doubt even Voldemort could orchestrate a betrayal this heart-rending and despicable!"

Silence reigned. Although rare, the wrathful beings before them were known well, and best avoided.

"He deserved it."

Pompous tones drawled out from the bespectacled Ministry wizard.

"He deserved it. He took our brother and our sister on dangerous, life-threatening, AWFUL adventures. He nearly killed Ron, didn't he Ron?"

"I have the scars to prove it!"

Silence again, but even more hostile, if at all possible.

"I- WE invoke the right and rite to separate from our blood family given that their views and ours, their decisions and ours do not and could not ever coincide. We invoke as brothers, together as one, for we two are stronger together than alone, and our views have the most minor of discordances. We invoke this right by the air we breathe, the water we drink, the earth we walk on, and the fire we warm ourselves by. We invoke by the properties of life and death, light and dark, time and existence.

"Thus do we separate ourselves from the caste and family of Weasley, and enter our own, pure-blood line of wizards to be known and respected through the name of Weyrd, and let it be known that we no longer wish any ties to this name, this house, these memories, or any of these people."

Doubly invoked, unison-spoke, magic spilled through the air and severed any bonds between them, dulling the vibrant hair to pale orange, lightening the blush-prone skin to bronze. Still-turquoise eyes peered through shaggy bangs before mirrored orange turns oppositely, one left and one right. Eye catches eye, twin catches twin, and the hand of one reaches out to reassure the other.

Each equal in the other's brotherly embrace, they flee the house they once knew to change the sign and the name on their store, their pride, their joy.

"Um, I think we forgot to change our first names, Fred Weyrd."

"I knew we'd forgotten something crucial, George Weyrd. Our surnames no longer truly match our given."

"Either we should remedy that, or not be considered square."

"You're right, matching is for squares! Why, I never! We're much more inclined to being pentagons, don't you think?"

"Oh, most certainly, I find it the most odd, but heptagons are quite odd as well, and far more fitting."

"Oh yes, I quite agree."

--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--

'Dear Harry,

How has your summer been, Harry? If I remember, your nightmares were dreadful when we were still at Hogwarts together, and there have been several attacks that have probably disturbed your rest, but I heard that you had tried to learn Occlumency for a while- did that help any? I hope so. Sleepless nights are no stranger to me, and I wouldn't wish them on anyone else, really.

I'm sorry to wait so long to send this letter, since I wanted to send it on your birthday, but Hermione and Ron both sent me letters detailing what a horrible person you are, which I really can't believe. I'm glad that their true faces have been revealed, but I'm really sorry that you have to lose your closest friends because of it.

Harry, I want to form a formal alliance. I think that, even with you being the Boy-Who-Lived and all, we actually have a lot in common, and I heard some of the prophecy while you were listening to it. I almost wish that I were in your place instead. And I think that, with my knowledge of Pureblood traditions, and your raw power, that we can help each other, especially given what some of our other friends have done.

I know that I don't amount to much. I'm clumsy, and my magic is erratic, and I can't even fly well- I have very little skill in defense at all! But I think that something has changed about that. Although yesterday I could scarcely move around the house without bruising myself, something has happened since then, and I don't have that much clumsiness anymore somehow! And I was reading one of our older textbooks, and Harry... I understood it.

I don't like the current political climate at all, Harry. The Gryffindors will rally, mostly, behind Ron and Hermione, the rest of the Wizarding World is sure to reflect that. Please understand my position, Harry. I know that we're friends, but let's make it something stronger.

Ever Yours,

Neville Longbottom'

The once-clumsy boy dripped green wax onto the parchment and whispered the name of the recipient, hurriedly pressing the leaf-shaped seal through to the parchment.

He attached the letter to the family owl. "Ceres, don't get too distracted, and go straight to Harry Potter, wherever he is right now. Stay until he gives you his reply, alright, girl?

The herbologist-in-the-making caressed the golden feathers of the owl he understood better than his 'familiar', and sent her off, a glitter of golden warmth in an expansive blue sky, marred with only the slightest of clouds.

Wish a rushed note to his dearly beloved grandmother, he set out to finally see his parents as a wizard of his highest potential, as opposed to a failure of the pureblooded sort.

--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--

An uproar has transformed Diagon Alley. Ex-Hufflepuffs swarm the streets as they rush to fulfill the demands of their employers, the recently-renamed Weyrds. Already, the sounds fill the air, of spells and movement and clutter. People gawk in the streets, for who could ever anticipate that these two steadfast supporters of the light would separate themselves from such a pure and perfect family? Rhetorical questions, like this one and more, fill the air, and the sign is almost complete.

WWW- Weyrds' Wizarding Wheezes, the only whimsically wonderful source for all of your needs in the realms of pranking, fun, and sweets to eat and laugh at.

Turquoise eyes oversee this rush with interest, all four eyes tracking the movements, until finally, the sign arises and attaches to the façade. High five, hug, rejoice in the new day.

--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--

Minerva McGonagall stalked into the Headmaster's office, her expression furious. Three days ago she had requested the Headmasters presence in the staff room for a discussion, and three days ago he had asked for a minor postponement. Unfortunately for him, her impatience had gotten the better of herself, and her eyes glittered- until she saw him.

His eyes were glazed over, his chest showed no signs of movement. The usually lively headmaster looked, for all purposes, extremely dead. The green ichor had stained one of his favorite robes, smothered in rainbows and confections.

Her voice hoarse with screams she hadn't heard, she summoned from her rooms one of her best bottles of scotch. Forgoing a glass, she drank straight from the bottle.

"My god… Albus Dumbledore is dead…"

The portraits that heard her snickered a secret laugh, for they felt it was well-deserved. One did not interfere with the concept and presence of free will without suffering a consequence of sorts. Long had they attempted to make it known to the dear headmaster that, yes, he was making a large number of avoidable mistakes. The Dumbledore fortune had quadrupled with his defeat over Grindelwald, and rather than helping others as so many had advised, he had thought only of himself. Instead of aiding and adopting Tom Riddle, thus giving him a better view on life itself, he'd gloried and basked in the warmth of fame.

He had made so many similar mistakes on so many occasions.

Glory, bask, but everything in moderation, for fear of rebellion and rejection. Truer words are rarely spoken or expressed.

--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--

Although their owner is ensconced in safety, a pair of eyes flutter violently behind closed eyelids. They recall a time of freedom, and the day that caused it to end.

Narcissa Malfoy had been a kind mother during his early years. It was she who spent her time with him, and she who told him to spread the beauty of the garden to the guests of his fifth birthday party. Before he had gathered the beautiful, white-velvet roses and the remaining seeds for planting to hand out as party favors, his father had summoned him.

The presence of another mind danced at the back of his head, a constant state of worry for his mother. She feared that too many years of pureblooded inbreeding had caused the onslaught of mental disorders in her son, and harried him about the presence, but it was his constant, and it had never asked for another's pain. The comfort constantly offered was a way for him to escape the torment of purebred culture, and thus was it on that day, so many years past.

Draco Malfoy rushed through the quiet of the house to his father's study. Something important was happening, or had happened, and it would not do for him to be late. Three steps before he reached the door to his impending doom, he halted to right himself, for his shirt had come untucked, and his hair danced wildly about his face.

Three raps indicated his presence to his father, and the door swung open to reveal two men, one brunette and the other blonde.

"Draco, our dear friend Princeton Parkinson has come early with his daughter, Pansy, specifically to speak to you. Come forward." The silky tones of his father's voice slid icily down the back of his shirt, leaving him utterly terrified.

Aforementioned Lord Parkinson held in his hands a family heirloom, a necklace filled with the blood of any Parkinson to be married in alliance, as a way to ensure future fidelity and prosperity between the two. Already he stared askance at the child before him, for though he played the part of an heir to a Knight of Walpurgis, or Death Eater, his eyes were too innocent and kind.

Princeton Parkinson knew that the alliance his friend wished for would never occur, and for that, he worried.

Gingerly, he placed the necklace around Draco's neck, before stepping back, and expecting the screams that indicated an impossible match, or the mild whimpers that indicated a cemented alliance between the two families.

Neither came.

The child appeared to glow with an unearthly light, that was most certainly not his own. This light was not the silver-blue of the young Master Malfoy's aura, but an ebony-green that held surprising comfort and kindness.

A childish, disembodied voice spoke tiredly, "It's not nice to take him away from me, you know. For a moment he was gone from my head, and that hurt. He's not yours. I don't think he ever was."

With that, the necklace settled around Draco's neck and lost every trace of magic.

The shock in the room seemed nearly solid. "But those enchantments- Hogwarts' founders- strongest magic I've seen in a century- my goodness, Lucius, I'm perfectly willing to ally our families, any other way than this. Lucius, your son is protected by one of the most powerful beings I have ever had the honor of encountering, and I've been in the direct presence of both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. I wouldn't want to endanger myself by infuriating your son's protector," Princeton babbled. This, in an of itself, marked a huge change in the behavior of the man, for Princeton never babbled, not even in the direct presence of Lord Voldemort himself.

With a glare, Lucius ripped the necklace from the throat of his only child and dismissed him with a slide of his hand through the air. Unsure of what had occurred, but perfectly willing to flee, he rushed back to his pile of white roses and continued with his plan to beautify the homes of his party guests.

It was that night that the simulacrum had come into being, and that night that Draco felt the deepest rejection from parent to child.

His rest finally settled, the dream-memory over, and the protection of his lifelong companion and of the Shacklebolts led him to dreamless sleep.

--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--

Severus knew, the moment that the portkey dropped him into his home's embrace, that he had missed a slew of firecalls. Visitors could leave messages with the House Elves he employed, and each House Elf could relay three different ideas.

His entire House Elf staff stood in the foyer antsily and descended on him like hawks.

"Mister Malfoy called about your godson who is missing and was almost picked up by the Ministry but the Ministry doesn't have him and he almost couldn't find the second one, either,---Missus Malfoy woke up and he doesn't know what to do ---Princeton and Periwinkle are having another baby and wanted you to be the godfather --- Professor McGonagall called all tipsy-like and said the Dumbly is-"

"SILENCE" roared Severus, brain spinning, eyes narrowed. "Silence. I have a guest who needs to situating. Once that accomplished, I want two light meals brought to the smaller dining room. Following that, I shall accept any and all messages. Also, bank every fireplace but the private Floo- any messages I miss from those other connections I dismiss as unimportant."

With a sigh, Severus stalked, half-carrying, half-supporting his child, with intent on finding a suitable bedroom for his son.

Important information and thought would have to wait.

--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--JPSS-HPDM--


End file.
